


You'll Be Queen One Day

by kindahannah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Westeros, F/M, Magic, Multi, Pining, Slow Burn, Swordfighting, aka you literally dont need to be familiar with game of thrones at all, and snape is a garbage man who will get the fate he deserves, and when i mean incredibly loosely i mean i used the locations and some of the terminology, idk what to tag bc this rly just kinda happened, incredibly loosely based in a game of thrones au, its really just a royalty au, james is determined to find lily and make her the queen the world deserves, lily is a secret princess, regulus black is a good person, rodolphus is an evil tyrant king
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindahannah/pseuds/kindahannah
Summary: “All my life,” She’s speaking with a careful and deliberate kind of control, exerting everything in her power to mask the anger that is quickly rising up in her chest. “All my life, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know was who I am. You knew, you’ve always known, and you’ve never told me! But, somehow, these people who’ve just shown up at our home, who you’ve just met, deserve to know? And I didn’t?”Or, the one where Lily is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and James is the one who sets out to find her.





	You'll Be Queen One Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot but then Game of Thrones ended and I wasn't ready to say goodbye to Westeros so... here's this! You really don't need to understand Game of Thrones to follow this, I mostly just set it there because I didn't want to have to come up with a fantasy universe of my own. However, if you are a Game of Thrones fan then you might pick up on some references hidden in throughout the work and some hints as to which GoT characters are being mirrored. 
> 
> ENJOY!

**James**

_King’s Landing_

“Peter’s been reading up at the Citadel, as much as he can with the Maesters breathing down his neck, at least. He says we have to go North.”

James eyes the letter that lies on the middle of his table—the letter that a raven had flown all the way from the Reach earlier that morning—feeling a bit like he’s planning a war with the way they’re all standing, with their arms crossed over their chests and identical, wary expressions on their faces.

If their plan goes anywhere near the way they’re hoping, he supposes, they essentially _are_ planning a war.

James shifts his gaze to each of them in turn—Sirius, Remus, Regulus, Marlene, Dorcas. They’re his closest friends, his most trusted confidants, and the bravest people he’s ever met. But are they in over their heads, now?

“Even if we move fast, it’ll take far us weeks to get that far.” Remus points out, fingers running over his chin as he speaks. James has sought out Remus’s opinion on _everything,_ ever since they were children, and this was no different. Being raised Fleamont Potter’s ward had made Remus just as knowledgeable in affairs like these as James, himself, was. “Nearly a month there and back, by horse.”

“A month? I might be dead by then.” Marlene’s words are cold and biting. They make Dorcas’s hand fly to her shoulder in a comforting hold.

Sirius exchanges a glance with his brother. “Listen, we don’t _know_ that they’re going to try and kill you, Marlene. You’re only betrothed to Rodolphus, not married. There’s plenty of ways to break an engagement that aren’t murder.”

“They murdered—” Marlene begins, but her words die on her lips when her eyes snap to James.

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence for him to know exactly what she intended to say. How could he forget the way the masses cheered, barbaric and cruel, for the head of his father upon a stake?

“They murdered my father, yes, but his head is only up on a spike because he tried to keep Rodolphus off the throne.”

It happened months ago, but James still remembers every second of his father’s execution in painstakingly vivid detail that lingered, dark and heavy, on his shoulders and in the corners of his mind.

He had been prisoner in the castle dungeons for weeks, and Marlene had begged for mercy for her friend’s father, the allegedly treasonous Hand of the King, but King Rodolphus had refused.

Fleamont Potter was a good man, _a noble man,_ who met his bitter end too soon only because he wanted to do what was _right._ James wasn’t the only person who knew that, either. Since his father’s execution, there had been riot after riot breaking out in even the farthest corners of the continent, making Fleamont Potter the martyr of their protests against an unjust, tyrant of a king.

Rodolphus Lestrange _is_ more of a tyrant than a king, by all accounts. Ever since he ascended the throne a year ago, after his father’s untimely death, his disdain toward the common people in Westeros was clear. He increased taxes to prices no one could afford, he demanded each kingdom provided men for a royal army, he even went as far as to ridicule and torture whichever souls were unfortunate enough to cross his path on a day that the temperamental king found himself in a foul mood. Rodolphus repeatedly proved that the lives of the citizens weren’t his concern—unless, of course, they were willing to pay their weight in gold for a thinly veiled facade of empathy.

It often seemed that Fleamont Potter’s role as Hand of the King was the only thing keeping life in Westeros from becoming unbearable. When Rodolphus called for his execution, it was a crime against the people. Whispers of revolt became passionate acts of rebellion that not even the King, himself, could keep in line, especially when his own army began to turn against him.

As difficult as it continues to be, James forces himself to remember that the loss of his father is so much bigger than him. It’s about all of them. It’s about _all of Westeros._ It’s the catalyst, the breaking point, that will finally end the Lestrange’s reign of terror.

Regulus nods, meeting James’s eyes across the table. “The only way to ensure that _none of us_ die is to get the Lestranges off the throne, which means we have to find the Lost Princess.”

 _The Lost Princess._ Peter’s letter from the Citadel confirmed what James’s father already knew—that the last King of the Lions had a daughter that allegedly evaded death when House Lestrange and House Black came to King’s Landing to kill all the last members of House Gryffindor.

It had only been a theory when Fleamont Potter had lost his head for daring to believe it, but Peter’s letter and the pages he had duplicated from High Septon Dumbledore’s journal—who was notorious for recording every aspect of his life, down to keeping what Peter referred to as an _overly detailed log of his shits_ —described a baby girl with the scarlet hair of her father and the green eyes of her mother who had been smuggled from King’s Landing in the first hours of her life. According to Peter, their best bet was to go North—where her mother’s family hailed from—but that was the only lead they had.

“So, we go North.” Remus says, decisively, and James feels his stomach twist as Sirius catches his gaze from the other side of the room. This is the part of the plan James had yet to voice to anyone, aside from his oldest friend.

“Well…” James begins, and everyone is waiting with bated breath. “Sirius and I are going North. Marlene, you can’t leave King’s Landing without the Royal Army tracking you down within a fortnight. Dorcas, you’re her only handmaiden who knows what’s happening and, Regulus, you’re the only one that can stay in the palace and make sure Marlene stays safe. The Kingsguard may be a life sentence, but it’s a trusted one.”

“And I? Do you expect me to just sit and wait?” Remus interrupts, sounding more hurt than just offended that he hasn’t been included.

“Am I your brother? Now and always?” James asks, turning to face Remus.

“Now and always.”

“Then I ask your trust in me. Should Peter send any word from the Reach, without you here there is no guarantee whose hands it’ll fall into. In the case that anything goes wrong while we’re North, you’re the only one I’ll be able to send word to without interception. I need you here. _We_ need you here.”

Remus looks thoughtful for a moment, and eventually nods. James is no fool, he’s gained just as much political knowledge under his father’s guidance as Remus has, and they both know that to be true.

“We leave tonight. There’s no time to waste.” Sirius finally speaks up, and this time, no one argues.

* * *

**Lily**

_Winterfell_

Lily Snow has always known that she’s different. Her surname never left her any room to doubt that much.

She’d heard the story straight from the lips of Petunia—her half-sister, by all accounts, though Petunia has never treated her as such—many times. Lord Evans had left for war with one daughter and came back with two. Lady Evans had always been kind and motherly to her, but Petunia resented her and never let her forget it.

“You are not an Evans. You will never be an Evans.” Petunia had, more or less, spit the words at her many times throughout her life. What stung the most was that they were _true._

She didn’t get her father’s name. She was not an Evans. She was a _Snow—_ the name of every Northern bastard.

Lily’s name was not something she could ever escape—though she did often dream of running away to faraway Dorne, where bastard children weren’t shunned—but it wasn’t the only thing that made her different.

No. There were hundreds of thousands of bastards scattered all around Westeros. There was only _one_ like her, though. She discovered that when she was only eleven.

When she was eleven, there was another noble family that had come to visit—House Dursley of Bear Island. They didn’t have any extraordinary wealth or good standing, but she’d heard Petunia brag enough about how _unfailingly loyal_ the Dursley family had always been to their—her—own, so it made sense as to why they wanted to negotiate a marriage between their only son and the only _true-born_ Evans daughter.

Petunia was just shy of twelve at the time, and Lord Evans remained firm in his asserting that Petunia would go _nowhere_ until he deemed that she was old enough to be married, but that their betrothal stood. Some day, when she was older, Petunia would marry the Dursley boy and go far away.

Lily couldn’t say she’d be sad to see her sister go, but she couldn’t _stand_ the Dursley boy or his sister, and they visited Winterfell far longer than Lily liked after the impending betrothal was arranged.

That opinion seemed to be mutual, if the way that Vernon and Marge—with Petunia only a few paces behind them—came to corner her as she played in the courtyard with Severus, a ward her father had brought from the Iron Islands and her only friend in Winterfell.

“She’s like a little _boy._ ” Petunia had sneered as they watched her wiels a dull sword she had stolen from the forge when no one was looking, hitting it against the one Severus held in his own hand. Severus wasn’t an exceptionally skilled swordsman—Lily’s raw talent for the craft exceeded his, though he’d never admit it—but at least it was _something._ “She’ll never marry. She’s a bastard, you know.”

“A bastard? Being raised under your own roof? How do you stand it?” Marge had sounded so pitiful—as if they were talking about Petunia catching greyscale or dragon pox—that Lily began to swing her sword with a bit more animosity.

“Your father’s bastard?” Vernon asked, and Lily clenched her jaw at the mere thought of what words may come next. “Her mother’s some whore he took pity on, I’m sure.”

Lily’s anger fueled her actions, fire pulsing through her veins and taking over. Before she could even process what she was doing, her sword was turned away from Severus and pointing straight at Vernon’s throat. “Don’t you _dare_ speak about my mother that way.”

Truthfully, she had no idea who her mother was. Her father had never mentioned the woman to her and, really, Lady Evans had always been as near to any mother she could ask for. Despite that, she felt no remorse in what she said to Vernon for it.

Vernon did nothing—frozen with fear like the coward he was, even though the sword was nowhere near sharp enough to hurt him, let alone kill him. It was Petunia who screeched and came forward to yank it from her hands, tossing it out of Lily’s reach and into the fire pit burning to keep the courtyard warm in the icy weather.

“You spoil everything! Leave him alone!” Petunia shrieked, but Lily heard none of it. All she was worried about was getting her sword back before it melted down into nothing.

She didn’t think twice about plunging her hand into the fire for it, even with the sound of shocked gasps from everyone else who realized that sticking a bare hand into a flame was a _terrible idea._

It didn’t hurt, though. She didn’t feel anything at all.

“Lily! Stop!” Severus shouted, grabbing her by the shoulder and tugging her backwards. He used his own sword to knock hers to the ground, but his motions stilled when he looked at her empty hand and saw _nothing._ No burns, no angry red wound, her, no blisters bubbling to the surface of her skin. There was no sign that she’d just thrust her hand into the fire. _Nothing, at all._

“You’re a freak, Lily! A freak!” Petunia had wailed before grabbing the Dursley siblings and pulling them away from the sight. “I’m telling!”

Usually, Lily wasn’t one to be afraid of Petunia’s threats, especially when they involved telling Lord and Lady Evans on her. Every once in a while, they would come back to Lily and begrudgingly ask her to just _try and keep your distance from her when she’s upset._ But Petunia was always upset, so that hardly did anything to help.

This time, though, she was _terrified._ This time she actually felt as though she’d done something terribly wrong and strange. Normal people weren’t supposed to plunge their hands into an open flame to grab scalding metal, and they certainly weren’t supposed to come out unscathed the way she had.

Vaguely, she remembered the stories that Severus used to tell her about the King of the Lions—the one that had been overthrown by House Lestrange, who took the Iron Throne because they claimed to have ancient Serpent blood. Severus spoke nothing but harsh words of the king who had lion’s blood running through his veins, and she vaguely remembered a story of how those trying to get rid of him tried to burn him alive. He’d walked out of the fire, alive and unharmed, and Lily felt her stomach drop at the recollection.

Later that night, after dinner, her father had called her aside to speak with him and his wife. Lily had burst into tears, her mind running wild with all the awful, terrible possibilities of what could happen to her if they thought _she_ had lion’s blood. Even Severus had kept his distance from her ever since the incident, and he was her _best friend—_ a ward who had nothing to lose by associating with her.

The Lord and Lady had _much_ to lose. Would they send her away to become a septa? What if someone else found out? Those loyal to King Lestrange would want her killed, no doubt. The thought sent a new kind of fear through her, and her entire body began to tremble. “I don’t want to die!”

To her surprise, it was Lady Evans who quickly knelt at her side and began to wipe the tears from her face. “You’re not going to die.” She had insisted, gentle but firm. “You are our _daughter_ , and we would never let anything happen to you.”

Lily froze. Never had Lady Evans ever referred to Lily as _her daughter,_ not explicitly. The tears racing down her cheeks subsided, slowly, and she sniffled. “But—But the fire—”

Her father shushed her, and Lily knew he was serious. The words died on her tongue. “We need to protect you, but you need to protect yourself. You’re different, Lily. Different than the others you’ll meet in your life. There are people who won’t like that you’re different, and they may try to hurt you, so you need to try and keep anyone from finding out about it, okay?”

Lily nodded slowly, suddenly feeling far older than eleven. “Father…”

“Yes?”

“Does that mean that I’ll have to become a Septa and be alone forever?”

Her father’s face softened slightly, and Lady Evans gently brushed the hair out of her face. “One day, when the time is right, I will make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone brave and gentle and strong.”

Lily felt the doubt swimming in her stomach, crawling up her throat. She was a bastard, and now she was a bastard with a terrible secret. Perhaps she would get to marry a nice, village boy someday, but, despite her young age, she was smart enough to know that nobody really wanted a bastard for a wife. Despite that, she nodded. She’d done enough to upset the Evans family for one day.

From that day on, Lily vowed to be as normal as possible—or at least, pretended to be. No more play sword fights in the courtyard, no more provoking Petunia, no more of the girl she used to be.

All of that was gone and replaced with the ghost of a girl that Lily Snow used to be. She did what she had to do to survive.

* * *

**James**

_Winterfell_

“Seven hells, how do people live somewhere so _cold?_ ” Sirius mutters through a clenched jaw as he steps out of the carriage.

“I told you to dress warmly.”James replies, his lips curling up into an amused smile as he glances back at his friend. Sirius has always had a flair for the dramatics. It’s why he’s done so well in King’s Landing.

“This _is_ dressing warm. I’m from the bloody Westerlands, not the Wall.”

He’s not wrong. James knew it was cold in the North—he’s heard about it before—but he didn’t know just _how_ cold. Even in his nicest cloak, the sharp wind has him shivering. Winter has yet to come, but there’s already a heavy layer of snow that crunches under his boots with each step. He suspects that their lack of proper dress for such conditions will quickly betray their Southern roots, but he forces himself to remain confident.

“Where are we, anyway?” Sirius huffs, a scowl set on his face. James gives him a hard look, an expectant one, and once Sirius has managed to wipe it from his face, they begin their walk.

“Winterfell. Ever heard of it?”

Sirius gapes at him. “If _you_ were trying to hide a secret princess, would you store her in the ancestral home of her mother— _the late queen?_ ”

“I wouldn’t _store her_ anywhere. She’s a _person,_ not a sack of grain.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Hiding in plain sight often proves itself to be an effective strategy. And, if I’m wrong, they may be of some assistance, yet. From what I heard from my father, Lord Evans isn’t a fan of the Lestranges—”

“It’s hard to be a fan of the people who killed your sister, I’ve heard.”

“—and he might point us in the direction of the girl, if it means getting them off the throne.”

“Or, he’ll give us _nothing_ because, typically, when Northerners go South, they die.”

James spins on his heel, shooting Sirius a stony glare. “If this is how you’re going to act, you can wait in the carriage.”

“I’m only helping.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“By preparing you for the worst.”

James doesn’t even feel remotely sorry for the shove he gives Sirius at his words, but he can’t dwell on them for long. In fact, they’re gone from his mind entirely when, nearly the moment the cross the threshold into Winterfell, a scrawny looking boy approaches them with a spider-like walk that makes James’s skin crawl. He gives them an icy look through the dark, oily hair that falls over his face, as if he’s waiting for them to say something first.

“What a chivalrous host.” Sirius says under his breath, the stranger still far enough away from them that his words are only loud enough for James to hear.

James has half a mind to agree, except… He racks his brain to try and recall all the research he’d done, all the time he’d spent reading all the scrolls and records his father had collected. Peter’s letter had said the princess had her father’s scarlet hair— _House Evans, scarlet of hair, blue of eyes—_ and Lady Evans was a Stark before she’d been married— _House Stark, brown of hair, grey of eyes._

The boy before them, whose eyes were nearly as black as his hair, has no Evans, nor Stark blood in him.

“He’s not the host.” James whispers back, but he’s cut short when the boy closes in on them.

“You’ve traveled a very long way, Lord Potter.” The stranger practically spits the words from his mouth, and James has it in him to be taken aback for a moment about how he could possibly know his name. Everything about the man in front of him puts him on edge, but he forces himself to relax.

James opens his mouth, attempting to say something formidable to ease the clearly mounting tension, but Sirius juts in before he can. “Who the _fuck_ are you, and how do you know who he is?”

“What we don’t know is usually what gets us killed.”

The response sends a chill deeper through his body than the icy winds of Winterfell, and James tenses as he speaks. “We’ve come here—”

“I know why you’ve come here. Why should I help you?” The boy retorts quickly, and James is thrown for another loop by his response. “Your father was just beheaded for treason, Lord Potter. And _yours,_ Lord Black, is the one that they call _Kingslayer,_ is he not? I’ve already seen what happens when the stags and the dogs come North—nothing but bloodshed.”

James doesn’t have to look towards Sirius to know that he’s radiating anger. Any mention of his father—or, rather, any attempt to assert Sirius maintains any likeness to the man, at all—is enough to set him off to the point that James is _surprised_ he hasn’t drawn a sword on the stranger, yet. “Why should you help us? We’re trying to get rid of the Lestranges, and your _masters_ don’t seem to be fond of them, either. Have you seen that in one of your magic dreams?”

Ah, so Sirius knows something that James doesn’t. That’s why he hasn’t snapped.

“They’re not my masters.”

“No? Of course not. Tell me, do you say that because of a touching loyalty to your captors, or because they instructed you not to when they took you as compensation for what your house did to Lyanna Evans?”

Of course. The boy is no Evans, but a _Snape._ He’s a ward—a ward with the greensight so many of the Ironborn possess.

James’s father always said that he’d never trust an Ironborn, and so far, James digresses. However unsettling and untrustworthy the Snape boy appears, they still need to get past him, so James jumps to interfere before Sirius gets the opportunity to _really_ lash out at him. “We’re looking for a girl. An Evans girl.”

Snape’s attention is pulled away from Sirius, momentarily, and turns to James. There’s a sneer on his face that chills James to his core, but he doesn’t back down. “You’re about a week too late, _My Lord._ ” Snape drawls, the sarcasm dripping from his words as he addresses James with his proper title. “She’s gone off to Bear Island. Married to Lord Dursley.”

 _No._ That _can’t_ be. Bear Island is a safe place, but not _safe enough for her._ And if she’s _married…_ From what he knows of House Dursley, arrogant and crude, that certainly isn’t a family he wants anywhere near the throne.

He’s about to object, to see if Snape is _certain,_ when a low growl sounds to his right. His heart nearly stops on the spot when he slowly, _slowly_ turns his gaze and finds a great, white wolf stalking towards him.

“A direwolf? That’s impossible, there aren’t any south of the Wall.” Sirius breathes, and James’s shocked gaze travels between the wolf in front of them and the wolf depicted on the sigil of House Evans hanging from a tower across the courtyard.

He’s right. It _is_ a direwolf. And, if there’s a direwolf, then there has to be an Evans nearby. Snape had lied to them.

“Ghost, no!”

James’s gaze snaps away from the direwolf—that may or may not want to eat him for an early supper—to try and find the owner of the voice. When he does, the breath is knocked straight out of his lungs.

The girl running towards them, wrapped in a dark fur cloak, is _beautiful._ The wind is whipping through her long hair that’s the same color as the fire that just ignited in James’s stomach as she races to kneel down beside her direwolf—Ghost, apparently. “I’m sorry, he’s only a puppy.”

“That thing is _not_ a puppy! He’s _huge!_ ” Sirius sputters, and Lily places a protective arm around the neck of the wolf, which suddenly _does_ look a bit like a puppy as he noses at her temple, remarkably affectionate for such a frightening creature.

She’s an Evans. She must be.

“He’s not _that_ big. He’s only one!” Lily asserts, but James can’t think of _anything_ when the girl turns her gaze and he’s _pierced_ by her green eyes.

“It’s you.”

He speaks without thinking, clearly, and the girl’s gaze shifts to _him_ now with a look of confusion. James _can’t breathe,_ because she’s looking right into his soul. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“No, _no,_ sorry. It’s just… We were looking for you.” James says slowly, softly, not wanting to frighten her. If she really is the lost princess they’ve been searching for, James is willing to be a hefty sum that she’s been all but trained to keep everyone out. There’s a sudden look of fear that flashes over her face that confirms his suspicions, and his stomach sinks for a moment. “We don’t want to hurt you, I swear it. My name is James, of House Potter. My father—”

The girl gasps and her guarded expression suddenly softens. “Your father, he’s the one—” The words die on her lips and she suddenly rises to her feet. “I’m so sorry for your loss, My Lord.”

“My father died for a cause he believed in. He died trying to find the lost princess, the true heir to the Iron Throne—one that’s half-lion, half-wolf.”

He watches as the expression the girl— _the princess—_ wears goes from empathy to uncertainty, and eventually a look of realization slowly takes over. “You think it’s _me?”_

James is _confused._ How could she not know who she is? Unless whoever raised her went to extreme lengths to keep her in the dark, it would seem that maybe he’s _wrong._ He glances towards Sirius to try and see what he thinks, but finds that his friend appears to be at just as much of a loss as James.

“I apologize, My Lord, but I think you’re mistaken. I couldn’t—I’m no _queen._ I’m—”

“Your eyes.” Sirius says, cutting her protests off and making the words die on her lips. The girl looks at him slowly, urging him to go on. “Have you ever met anyone with eyes like yours? You haven’t, have you?”

The girl’s silence is all that’s needed to confirm Sirius is right.

“Emerald eyes… they’re rare. There’s only one known family, now, whose children have eyes that color. You know who they are, don’t you?” Sirius continues on, and James can only watch as the girl nods. “Those with lion’s blood have traits far more rare than their eyes, of course. People say that a true lion can not be burnt.”

The girl inhales, her back stiffens, and James can tell that something has clicked in her mind. A sudden realization has formed, and his heart is pounding.

She looks as if she’s about to say something, but the Snape boy throws himself into the conversation before he can. “Lily, _don’t._ He’s a _Black,_ son of the Kingslayer, you can’t trust him.”

 _Lily._ Her name is Lily. A good name for a queen, he thinks.

“And she can trust you? Lily, has the ward ever told you why he’s here? Has he ever told you about the time his family came and tried to slaughter everyone with the Gryffindor name in King’s Landing? When they betrayed the old royal family from the inside?” Sirius’s voice is low, his words aimed more towards Snape than to Lily. “Do you know what happens to people like you who trust men like him?”

“Is that a threat?” Snape nearly growls, his entire body tense. Before James can even think about de-escalating the situation, Snape reaches for his waist and unsheathes a knife.

James moves on instinct, brandishing his own sword in front and pointing it towards Snape as he throws himself in front of Lily.

The action had been pointless, though, because Lily spun away from him in a second, pointing a sword of her own that had been hidden beneath her fur cloak in front of her own body. James is _stunned_ . He’s never met a highborn woman who could wield a sword—especially not with such proper form. He can admit that he’s truthfully relieved that she isn’t pointing the sword at him, but more in all _three_ of their general directions.

They’re all silent, for a moment, until Sirius speaks again.

“Of course not. I’m educating my future queen.” Sirius speaks calmly, seeming entirely unfazed by the turn of events. “The next time you pull a knife on me, I’ll kill you. That was a threat. See the difference?”

Snape falters, having the decency to look mildly frightened as he begrudgingly puts his knife away. James looks to Sirius, who nods, and James returns his own sword.

“Lily, your father requests your presence. You’re and… our _visitors_.” A new voice sounds, startling him.

James had been too wrapped up in the events unfolding in front of him to notice that someone else had approached from behind them. It was a woman, dark haired, broad, and dressed in boiled leather and chainmail.

She’s a soldier, not a knight—James knows that knighthood, in general, is more of a Southern institution than a Northern one—but he can’t help but be impressed, anyway. He’s never seen women be trained in combat, but they _should._ Maybe that’s something Lily can change.

“Thank you, Emmeline.” Lily nods, storing her sword away again and standing up a bit taller. “Follow me.”

James can’t help but think that Lily already has the presence of a queen as she leads them inside of the castle. A part of him had thought that he’d be coming to rescue her, but it was clear now that she doesn’t need saving.

Instead, she’ll save them.

* * *

  **Lily**

_Winterfell_

Lily cannot help but dwell on the irony of the situation, a welcome distraction from the waves of anxiety rising up in her chest, as she makes her way to her father’s study. She’s always wanted to know who she is—who she _really_ is—and, now that the truth is about to make itself known, she’s terrified of it.

 _The lost princess_. That’s what the handsome stranger had called her. It was lunacy. It had to be.

And, yet, the significantly more sharp-tongued of the strangers had raised a few fair points worth considering. Her eyes, the old tale of the Lion who could walk through flames that she’d heard many times before.

Still, it seems impossible. The entire Gryffindor family had been wiped from the face of Westeros years ago—twenty years ago, the whisper in the back of her head reminds her, the same year of her birth.

She quiets the storm brewing in her mind as she slows to a stop in front of the doors of her father’s study. The eyes of the direwolves carved into the dark wood seem to stare her down. _You’re not an Evans_ , they whisper out to her, more sinister than Petunia ever had.

If the shaking of her hand is visible as she lifts it to rap once against the door, no one mentions it.

“Lily.” Her father’s voice sounds as she pushes her way into the study, though even the familiarity and the warmth woven through it is not enough to soothe her nerves. “And our guests. I wasn’t aware that we would be receiving company, especially not company from so far South.”

Beside her, Lily hears the long-haired boy mutter something under his breath about _bloody useless greensight,_ but he’s silenced by an elbow to his arm before Lily can even think about turning a glare of her own upon him.

“My apologies, My Lord. We would have sent word, had we been able. The circumstances are… precarious, at best. I am James of House Potter, and this is Sirius of House Black.” The boy—James—bows his head courteously, and Lily turns her eyes to her father, awaiting a judgement call.

To her own surprise, Edwynn Evans, the man more wary of Southern company than any she’d ever met, does nothing but motion for them to be seated in front of his desk. Lily, however, can hardly think about sitting. Not when she’s nearly crawling out of her skin with fear and anticipation.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Lord Potter.” Edwynn finally says after a few agonizing moments of silence. “Your father… He was a good man. He was the Hand of the King to my sister’s husband when they sat on the throne, and he served them dutifully up until their last day. I know because I was there, fighting alongside him. It was your father who gave me my niece, wrapped in a blanket, and told me to take her back to Winterfell with me. He told the Lestranges that he’d taken care of her, disposed of her the same way they had disposed of her mother, but that I was to take her and keep her hidden.”

Lily’s jaw drops at the revelation, her eyebrows furrowing as the gears in her mind move at a record speed to try and make sense of his words. She wants to say something, anything. She wants to demand an answer, now, to explain the years of secrecy that have now come to fruition upon the sudden arrival of these Southern strangers. So she does.

“All my life,” She’s speaking with a careful and deliberate kind of control, exerting everything in her power to mask the anger that is quickly rising up in her chest. “All my life, the only thing I’ve ever wanted to know was who I am. You knew, you’ve always known, and you’ve never told me! But, somehow, these people who’ve just shown up at our home, who you’ve _just met,_ deserve to know? And I didn’t?”

“Lily.” Edwynn tries to speak, tries to raise a comforting hand in her direction, but she takes a sharp step backwards.

“You lied to me my whole life!” She points an accusing finger in his direction, her hand trembling as violently as a leaf caught in a winter wind as her collected demeanor finally breaks.

Edwynn stands, and Lily swears she can see a hint of remorse hidden in his features, but it isn’t enough to soften her. “I did it to protect you. It was the only way I could keep you safe, but I know that I can’t do that anymore. You’ve seen what the Lestranges have done. Westeros needs you.”

“I…” Lily begins, but words fail her and she finds herself faltering. “I can’t help. How could I possibly do anything about the Lestranges when I didn’t even know who I _was_ until today?”

“You won’t be alone.” It’s James who speaks now, slowly rising to his feet and turning towards her. “You already have people in King’s Landing who are waiting to support you. Sirius and I came all this way to find you. You have a maester at the Citadel who's already prepared a case to declare you as the heir to the Iron Throne. My father’s ward, the smartest man I’ve ever met, he’s in King’s Landing, waiting to help teach you everything you know. You have a member of the Kingsguard whose already sworn his sword to you. Even those who don’t know you… they’ll come to see you for who you are. The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“All you have to do right now is say you’ll come.” Sirius adds, now on his feet and looking at her, too.

And, suddenly, although she cannot explain why or how, something clicks. The fear in her chest lessens, and, instead, there’s a lion roaring inside of her, bravery surging through her veins as though she’s alight with it. “Okay.” She agrees, standing taller. “I’ll come.”


End file.
